


Hard Sell Redux

by ladyeternal



Series: Bindings 'verse [3]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst and Porn, Episode: s01e08 Hard Sell, F/M, M/M, and a dollop of schmoop to make it all better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-27
Updated: 2011-02-27
Packaged: 2018-02-08 17:29:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1949892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyeternal/pseuds/ladyeternal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The continuing story of Neal and Peter's relationship, set against the events of episode 1x8. Can the fragile trust they've built survive what looks like the ultimate betrayal?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hard Sell Redux - Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: This is Hard Sell plus, which means that there are direct quotes and scenes from the episode. Allusions to all Season 1 eps and to my other fics.
> 
> Warnings: Do I need to warn for angst or pr0n at this point?
> 
> Disclaimer: The series White Collar, its characters and settings are the property of their respective creators. I own little more than a tabby that gets destructive when he feels ignored, and am only playing with the White Collar world for my own amusement and the free entertainment of others.
> 
> If you haven’t read the first two stories in this 'verse, [Bindings](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1748144) and [Overlap](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1785946), you may want to before reading this fic, as I allude to them throughout. Title card by [](http://dawnie-faith.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://dawnie-faith.livejournal.com/)**dawnie_faith** . Comments = Love. ♥ ^o^
> 
> Music: [I’d Do Anything For Love – Meatloaf](http://lyrics.wikia.com/Meat_Loaf:I%27d_Do_Anything_For_Love_\(But_I_Won%27t_Do_That\))  
> [When You Don’t See Me – Sisters of Mercy](http://lyrics.wikia.com/The_Sisters_Of_Mercy:When_You_Don%27t_See_Me)  
> [Endlessly – Muse](http://lyrics.wikia.com/Muse:Endlessly)

  
[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/ladyeternal/pic/00004ab7/)  


~ooooOOOoooo~

 

“If only there were some way to compare this to your life.”

Neal scowled darkly as he surveyed the board. “I get it, Moz: I’m a pawn.” He countered almost absently, feeling irritated with his friend and his situation. “Your analogy lacks creative thinking.”

“You’re upset because it’s accurate,” Moz replied almost sanctimoniously.

 _No, I’m upset because you’re reducing me to the most expendable piece on the board. Peter used the same analogy only a couple of days ago… in bed… and his was much sweeter._ Neal had to force himself to concentrate on Mozzie’s continuing statement about Kate being the queen because she had free reign; thoughts of Peter and bed almost cancelled out his capacity for any other musings, and he wasn’t about to tell Moz that he was sleeping with Peter. Moz understood a lot, but he’d _never_ understand that.

“Fowler has to be lying about Peter,” Neal asserted instead. “There’s no way he has Kate.”

“Neal, everyone has a price, and Peter’s been in the perfect position to control everything. I hate to give the suit credit, but… he’s smart.”

The fact that Moz was willing to believe it, even looking reluctant to give Peter that much credit, had Neal on the defensive. “I _know_ him,” he cut in, his voice soft and urgent. “There’s no way he could do it.” _No way he could do that to me. He just… wouldn’t…_

“If you’re so sure,” Moz said, almost carelessly, “then prove it. Find the ring, you find the king.” He took Neal’s king as he said it, Neal’s distraction having made the game an easy win this time.

“See if he has it.” Neal didn’t even want to consider the idea; it would represent a betrayal too wrenching to contemplate. But if it would get Moz off the idea and back on the track of the real culprit…

“I’m the bishop,” Moz put in, trying to lighten the mood. “If you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t.” Neal took a deep breath and shooed Moz out, having lost the game and interest in it. Lauren was picking him up today, and he needed to get ready for work.

And to find an opportunity to get into Peter’s house and search it for the ring without Peter and Elizabeth realizing what he was doing.

* * *

The visiting agent rubbed Neal the wrong way from the start, and when he was dismissed almost rudely from the conversation about the new case, Neal was actually relieved. He was going to get really sick of people throwing his four-story jump in his face. At least the agents in the Manhattan office were starting to treat him like a fixture rather than a felon. There were those that didn’t interact with him much, and therefore weren’t sure if they could trust him, but a growing number were becoming familiar enough with him to banter and chat and generally behave like he was a co-worker, not a convict.

After chatting up one of the interns, Neal was about to make his way back to Peter and Landry when Jennings, one of Peter’s agents, hailed him from his desk. “Hey, Caffrey, you like hockey?”

“Occasionally,” Neal said, not really liking the sport at all but interested in the hook all the same. “Why?”

“I’ve got two seats for the Rangers game, but my wife’s mother broke her hip yesterday. My wife’s already gone, and I’ve gotta head up to Cohoes this weekend to visit.” Jennings pulled the tickets out and offered them. “Box seats; you want ‘em?”

Neal took the tickets, faintly surprised by the offer. “I probably won’t be able to make it… but Peter could take the visiting agent, get him to lighten up and let us handle this new boiler-room case our way.”

“Sure you don’t want these for yourself, man?”

“Nah; I appreciate the offer, but I’m sure Peter will use them. If you’re sure you don’t want to try and exchange them for another game or something?”

“No telling when I’d be freed up for another game again. Don’t worry about it.”

“Thanks.” Neal was genuinely touched by the gesture. He stood and walked back to Peter and Landry. “Got some Rangers tickets; box seats. You guys interested?”

Peter couldn’t have looked prouder of Neal if he’d tried. It was almost like Neal had performed a trick right on cue just to prove some point Peter had made; Neal could guess why. Landry just looked between them and then gave over. “Okay.”

Grinning, Neal slid the tickets into Landry’s shirt pocket. “Boop!”

* * *

The briefing in the conference room with the whole team wasn’t nearly as important to Neal as his private briefing with Peter in Peter’s office. He knew what boiler-room schemes were, how much the take usually was and how thoroughly victims were hosed for their life savings when they dumped. The mobility of the room and the fact that the mole was a woman were unusual, but other than that, it was fairly humdrum.

“All right,” Peter said briskly once they were in his office alone, “you’re going to interview with a guy named Brad.”

“ _Of course_ his name is Brad,” Neal replied sarcastically. _If it wasn’t Brad, it’d be Steve or Tad or some other frat boy name. God, I feel old._ “You think I can keep up with these guys? Peter, I’m flattered.”

“Oh, gimme a break,” Peter scoffed. “You could sell light switches to the Amish.” He steadfastly ignored the happy little half-smile Neal gave at the compliment and pulled out the photo of their mole. “Madison Kukler; that’s our girl on the inside.” Neal let out a low whistle of appreciation as he took in a photo of a girl who could be a Hollywood starlet. “Yeah, exactly. She won’t know who you are.”

“What’s her role in all this?”

“The guys transfer the calls after they make a sale to her; she takes down all the buyer’s information. But thanks to her, we know exactly what kind of stocks these guys are looking to hock.” Peter watched as Neal flipped through the file, marveling at how quickly Neal could familiarize himself with anything he read. _I swear he’s got a photographic memory… maybe even fully eidetic…_ “We went fishing with several of our own front companies; they took the bait on that one: Rhymer Pharmaceutical.”

Neal was impressed by the speed with which the Bureau had gotten set up on this. “You’ve got a tap on every phone in the place.”

“Yup; we’re recording every call. But sales are real. We just want to know who’s behind it all.”

“So do I,” Neal muttered, not able to help himself. It couldn’t be Peter. It couldn’t be the handsome, passionate, dedicated man standing in front of him… not when he made Neal feel so safe. ‘The Man With the Ring’ wouldn’t make Neal feel safe; he was sure of that. He would be evil, set off warning claxons inside Neal’s head… he would _know_ the man when he saw him. He was sure of it.

“What’s that?”

Neal jerked his head up, forcing himself to concentrate. “Nothing.” Apparently willing to let the comment pass, Peter came around the desk and handed what appeared to be an expensive silver pen to Neal. “For me?” Neal joked. “Peter, I didn’t get you anything.”

Peter’s face was perfectly straight as he clicked the plunger at the top of the ‘pen’. A tiny speaker repeated Neal’s words back to him. Neal grinned in delight. “We call it an Eagle: recorder, transmitter, GPS. Keep it on you at all times.”

“Love it,” Neal murmured, admiring the device for a moment before standing up to head out with Peter. Something like this could come in _very_ handy… if he could manage to squirrel one away to keep for himself.

“We need to cut your anklet on this one,” Peter continued, striding towards the elevator.

A weight lifted from Neal; he lived for the investigations when they could cut the blasted thing, letting him walk without the constant chafe at his ankle even for a little while. “Love it even more.”

“No, you don’t,” Peter said quietly. His hushed tone was so close to his bedroom voice that it send pleasant shivers over Neal’s skin. “After your last escape, we need a home run. A lot of people think I made a mistake.”

The shivers turned from pleasure to anxiety. Neal didn’t like what that meant at all. “Let’s prove ‘em wrong,” he replied fervently.

“Yeah, or else you’re headed back to maximum security.”

The comment was almost to himself, so Peter was surprised when the file folder slapped him in the chest almost with the force of a blow. He kicked himself as Neal snarled icily: “Glad some things never change,” his blue eyes hard as agates. The elevator doors closed before he could even mouth an apology. _Dammit. Gonna pay for that one later._

* * *

Neal felt a hundred years older than the boys in the room. They were all twenty-somethings that looked about twelve in their business wear, and ‘Brad’ acted like such a jackass that Neal almost wanted to slap the stupid frat-boy grin off his face. But he wasn’t here to teach ‘Brad’ a lesson in how to view women. He was here to gain the attention of Brad’s superior, the man running the room, and that meant not letting Brad know exactly how little he thought of him.

Peter had told him that they’d rig the first call he made, letting him put on a performance that was a sure win and gain the position he needed. They knew he could take it from there. Even so, when the line picked up and Peter’s voice was on the other end, Neal felt a flutter of excitement. Suddenly, he had a chance to show Peter what he was really made of… the room disappeared and it was just he and Peter, and Neal was about to show his lover how well he could dance. “Mr. Fairweather?”

_“Speaking.”_

“My name is Nick Halden, and I wanna be your broker.”

_“I’ve already got a broker.”_

“Really? How’s he doing for you? Make you any money last year?”

_“Nobody made any money last year.”_

“That’s not true. If you were with me, you’d have netted three percent. That’s _after_ the crash.”

_“I don’t believe you.”_

“You got an e-mail address? I’ll send you my earnings report right now. Biotech and alcohol were up.”

_“How did you get my number?”_

“Your old broker. He’s not smart enough to keep you to himself. Whaddya do for a living, Charlie?”

_“I’m a history teacher, but I’m not interest-”_

Neal warmed up and dove in. “ ‘The only history that’s worth a damn is the history we make today.’ You know who said that?”

_“I believe Henry Ford said that.”_

There was such a note of pride in Peter’s voice that Neal had to force himself not to smile. He was impressing Peter. He could feel it. They were playing a rigged game and Neal was going to win, but he was going to show Peter how good he really was. “Yes, yes, he did, and he was right. Have you heard of Rhymer Pharmaceutical?”

_“No.”_

“Of course you haven’t, because your job is to teach and my job is to know about companies like Rhymer before everyone else. You know when you don’t buy a stock? When your cab driver tells you about it.” He dropped the timbre of his voice, leaning into the pitch. “Now if you’d known about IBM before the invention of the microchip, would you have bought in?”

_“Of course.”_

“Well, Rhymer is poised for a breakout on the same scale. Monday, the FDA will approve them to begin clinical trials on a quantum-confined nanotechnology that has the potential to transform cancer medicines, and I can get you in on the ground floor.”

_“That sounds like insider trading.”_

Peter was going to push him every step, make him work for every inch of ground. He was going to challenge him. Neal felt the familiar thrill rush in his blood. “Not at all, no; it’s completely legit. Look, I pore over a thousand pages of scientific technical BS so I can make you rich at three bucks a share. Let’s start small, okay? A thousand shares. I double that for you next week and then we get serious.”

_“Sounds nice… but I’d have to ask my wife.”_

Brad crowed that his sale had died; Neal barely heard him. He was focused, in the moment, Peter’s voice the only one in his ear. Peter was changing the tune; Neal adjusted without missing a beat. His voice dropped lower, the timbre soothing, beckoning… “Mr. Fairweather, if you invest with me, the only question you’ll have to ask your wife is what kind of hardwood floors does she want in her new house.”

_“I don’t know…”_

“Life comes down to a few moments, Mr. Fairweather,” Neal all but crooned. He pressed, so carefully, feeling his prey about to yield… just the lightest touch more… “This is one of them.”

A pause. All he could hear was silence, Peter’s presence a vibration on the line. Neal felt the moment before he heard it, and the victory sang in his veins. _“I’m in; but let’s make it five thousand shares.”_

“Thank you.” Neal let his grin loose, the rush of a good performance making him almost giddy. “I’ll transfer you over to one of our girls, and she’ll take your information.”

* * *

The entire day was spent making more sales and letting Peter and the team listen in. Neal stayed in top form, showing off for Peter more than anything else. Peter wanted a home run; didn’t want him to go back to prison; wanted to show everyone what Neal was capable of. Neal wanted to show Peter that he was the best.

When Brad took him out of range to meet ‘the man behind the curtain’, Neal almost worried about the fact that he wasn’t on his anklet. Then again, like his previous undercover operation using Nick, the Bureau had a GPS transmitter on his person and Peter likely had agents that would tail his every move.

Avery gave Neal the kind of warning signals that he expected from ‘The Man With the Ring’. The man was a sociopath, and Neal could see it in his eyes. Only a few years younger than Neal, and he had no empathy for the people he was destroying. Neal wanted to take him down. Hard.

When he was finally able to remove himself from Brad’s company, Neal was surprised to find that there were no agents waiting for him outside. Apparently, Peter was going to take their trust bargain further than he’d anticipated. He was trusting Neal not to take the chance to run… not to throw everything away… Tears burned in Neal’s eyes as he hailed a cab and gave Peter’s address.

About ten blocks away, Neal called their cell phone.

_“It’s a little early for you to be calling it a night, isn’t it?”_

“Yeah, well I got the man behind the curtain. His name is Avery Phillips.”

_“All right, I want to get moving on this. Meet me in the office in an hour.”_

Neal was suddenly inspired. The team meeting at Peter’s house, or at least part of it, would provide a perfect distraction… “I’m in your neighborhood; why don’t we meet at your place?”

_“My place?”_

“Yeah; it’s a little late for the bland Bureau walls. Besides,” Neal tempted, letting just a touch of innuendo creep into his voice, “you’ve got better coffee.”

_“Yeah… I do. All right. How close are you?”_

“About four blocks now.”

_“I’ll call Jones, have him meet us here.”_

* * *

Peter greeted Neal at the door dressed in a tee shirt and jeans. The moment Neal was inside and the door was closed, Peter slid a hand behind his neck and drew him in for a warm kiss. Neal smiled into it, tasting him back, feeling all of his worries melt away. “You were amazing today,” Peter murmured. “I thought I’d seen you in action before, but that… that was something else.”

“Different to be on the receiving end than just listening in, I take it?” Neal’s grin was boyish, his eyes sparkling in the light of Peter’s praise. It was nice to hear Peter appreciate his talents.

“Very.” Peter stroked the hair at the nape of his neck, his eyes taking on that cast of embers that made Neal’s pulse race. “Jones won’t be here for a little while yet.”

“How long?” Neal breathed.

“Not long enough, unfortunately.”

“Then let’s not waste time.” Neal pulled Peter to the couch, pushed him down, and kissed him.

They lingered over each other, just kissing, touching because they could and they wanted to and they had the time. There was no urgency now, no frantic need spurring them on. Just the fact that Peter had wanted Neal in his arms for most of the day, and Neal wanted to be in Peter’s all the time.

“I’m sorry about the thing at the office,” Peter said between kisses. “It wasn’t a threat; I was talking to myself more than you.”

“I realized that later,” Neal forgave gently. His fingers slid up and brushed at the hair at Peter’s temple. “I didn’t mean to be touchy about it.”

“So we’re okay?”

 _I want us to be okay. I want to forget that Fowler ever made me suspect you. I want to believe that Mozzie’s wrong and not have to prove it to both of us._ “Yeah… we’re okay.”

Peter drifted kisses over Neal’s eyes, lingering just a moment more, and then sighed. “I should wake El, at least let her know that Jones is coming and you’re here and we’ll be working for a while.”

“Okay. You want me to start the coffee?”

“That’d be great.” Peter stood reluctantly, his fingers tracing the line of Neal’s jaw. “You know where everything is. I’ll be down in a few minutes. If Jones gets here, just let him in.” He then turned and went upstairs.

Neal watched him go, then stood. He wouldn’t have much time. A quick search of the living room turned up no hidden caches where Peter would have the ring stashed. Nothing sitting in obvious places or tucked in a catch-all drawer like it had been quickly removed and hidden before El could see it. If Peter had the ring, it wasn’t on the ground floor.

He slipped into the kitchen like a ghost, making coffee and double-checking the few places where it might be hidden in the kitchen. No luck. Neal wasn’t sure how to take that. On one hand, it was bolstering his confidence that Peter wasn’t ‘The Man With the Ring’, that his trust in Peter was well-founded. On the other, it would be nice to know who ‘The Man With the Ring’ was, even if it was Peter, just so he could break out of this holding pattern and get Kate out from under his control.

Jones arrived, and Peter was coming down the stairs just in time to let him in. Elizabeth came into the kitchen wearing a robe over her pajamas, looking sleepy. “When I said you should come over at least once a week, I didn’t mean impromptu team gatherings to discuss cases, Neal.”

Neal grinned at her. “I know, but I was closer to here than I was to the office, and I wanted to see Peter alone for a few minutes before the team joined us. This case is gonna be a tightrope walk.”

Elizabeth smiled and kissed his cheek. “Go on; I’ll handle things from here.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Neal’s grin broadened at her scowl. Apparently, she hated being called ma’am. He filed the information away and went to join Peter and Jones in the common room.

Jones was on the phone with Lauren almost as soon as he arrived, having her do research on Avery, and Peter had pulled up his laptop to download Neal’s Eagle recordings. El brought out coffee, making a pointed remark to Peter that made Neal wonder if she’d have preferred to sleep through this meeting. That didn’t much matter, though. Peter was going to be ensconced in the case, El was distracted, and Jones was still on the phone.

“I’m going to rummage though your drawers and steal your most precious belongings,” Neal deadpanned, trying for a laugh. At Peter’s sharp glance, Neal almost rolled his eyes. “I’m kidding; I need to go to the bathroom.” _Actually, neither… I just need a few minutes to prove to myself that you really don’t have the ring… and then I can tell Moz what to do with his suspicions about you and focus on Fowler…_

“Upstairs, first door on your left,” Peter said, like Neal hadn’t been in the house several times before. “Leave the seat down when you’re done!”

Neal waved him off, pausing on his way up the stairs to look at one of the framed photos on the wall. Peter and Elizabeth, both much younger, on vacation. Peter was smiling, carefree, somewhere between the young collegiate who was free enough to experiment with gay sex and the dogged FBI agent who sometimes took life far too seriously. Neal wished he could have known Peter then, before the minefield of Kate and prison was laid out between them. Would Elizabeth have been right? Would he and Peter have become a committed couple? Or would the chemistry have burned hot and bright, only to die away?

 _That could still happen,_ he reminded himself as he pulled away to continue up the stairs. _This thing we have could still… what the Hell?_

He’d glanced at the next photo, a closer shot of Peter and Elizabeth, and something about Peter’s hand in the lower corner of the shot caught his eye. Bending close, he saw a pinky ring.

 _The_ ring.

It stared up at him from the perfectly mounted photo. Taunted him. He could almost hear Mozzie’s voice in his mind, repeating ‘I told you so’ in a hideous echo as the truth hit him like a pile of bricks. Neal felt sick. “I’ll be damned.”

“Everything all right?”

Elizabeth at the bottom of the stairs, concern in her voice. Jones further away, talking to Peter at the table. They weren’t alone. There was no time for a confrontation. Barely able to reassure Elizabeth that he’d never been better, he managed to keep his steps even as she turned away and he made his way towards the bathroom.

Once there, Neal closed the door and flung himself across the room. He hated vomiting. It wasn’t charming or seemly and it played Hell with your breath. But he couldn’t stop himself, his churning stomach emptying the moment he reached the toilet, and tears spilled from his eyes as the self-recriminations began to scream though his mind.

Peter. **_Peter._** The same man who’d held him and kissed him and made him feel safe. Who’d _rimmed_ him, for God’s sake. Who’d made him cry out and writhe and beg to be fucked like he’d never done before in his life.

Who’d made Neal love him almost without trying.

It took a moment, but Neal collected himself, washed his face and hands, disposed of the evidence and rinsed his mouth out with warm water and Listerine. It felt petty, spiteful, but there was a cold knot inside him that made him deliberately reach for Elizabeth’s bottle rather than Peter’s.

He would never reach for Peter again.

Clean, fresh, composed, Neal put on his game face and went back downstairs.


	2. Hard Sell Redux - Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see Chapter One for warnings, notes, disclaimers and song list.

  
[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/ladyeternal/pic/00004ab7/)  


 

~ooooOOOoooo~

 

He hadn’t been to bed. Neal had declined Peter’s offer to stay at the house, wanting to get back to June’s as soon as he could. He’d needed a change of clothes, was his excuse. In reality, he had to get away from Peter. Had to keep the maelstrom from boiling over.

Had to think about how to handle this.

He wasn’t going to cry. Neal wasn’t going to let himself cry over Peter Burke. He was going to navigate through this and he was going to do it without giving Peter Burke the satisfaction of one more tear. He’d shed enough while his stomach had heaved up its contents in the bathroom earlier.

Showered, dressed, mask firmly in place, Neal arrived at the FBI to find Peter’s team assembled and poring over documents. Apparently, they’d found quite a bit of information about Avery. “Find anything?” Neal asked, almost without caring what the answer was.

“Oh, hey,” Peter replied. The casual tone made Neal’s blood roar in his ears. “Maybe… Avery’s credible on paper. He runs a separate legit brokerage with this man.” Peter handed him a photo of the man Avery had argued with at the club last night. “Daniel Reed.”

“I saw them arguing,” Neal said, his tone clipped as he flipped the photo out of his fingers like a piece of trash. “They’re partners.” He couldn’t help the contempt for the word that laced his tone, or his irritation that Peter apparently didn’t notice.

“Yeah, but they don’t trust each other.”

 _Trust. I trusted you once, Peter… you made me trust you. Never again._ “Sounds par for the course,” Neal replied, trying to keep his anger out of his voice. It wasn’t working very well.

Peter prattled on for a minute with suppositions, but Neal barely registered the words. His eyes raked over Peter instead, trying to see what he hadn’t before, trying to find some way that he might have known the man in front of him was such a calculating, manipulative lying son of a bitch. Finally, Neal had to speak. “So let me wrap my head around this for a second: let’s just say I’m Reed. You’re Avery. You’re trying to screw me.” _In more ways than one._ “Why?”

“Money,” Peter said with a shrug.

“It’s that simple?”

“Isn’t it always?”

 _Nothing’s ever that simple, Peter. You’re definitely not that simple._ “So you manipulate your friends… and the people around you…”

“Yeah… all to get rid of you.”

Neal’s blood burned. _All to get rid of Kate… why, Peter? Why?_ “And I never saw it coming.”

He hadn’t seen it coming. That had hurt more than anything. Neal kept trying to see it, to find the tiny clue that he must’ve missed. He never miscalculated this badly. Yet there Peter stood, blithely unaware that Neal had figured him out, thinking that he still had Neal’s trust. And the part of Neal that was more hurt than angry wanted a reason to give it back to him.

Anything would be better than this nightmare. Even prison.

* * *

Chess with Mozzie again, and Neal was even more distracted than before. “What’s with you?” Moz finally asked, seeing that he was two moves away from taking Neal’s king and they’d barely begun to play.

“Found the ring,” Neal said softly. The words cracked in his mouth, tasting like ashes. “It’s Peter.”

Saying it out loud made it real. Horribly, wrenchingly real. In a burst of rage, Neal swept the pieces from the chess board and rested his face against his clasped hands. He wouldn’t cry. He _wouldn’t_.

“I’m so sorry, man,” Mozzie said softly, taking off his glasses. “I truly am.”

The sympathy felt like salt poured into a wound. Neal’s anger ebbed as the crack in his heart widened; he was bleeding to death in front of Mozzie’s eyes and Mozzie would never understand exactly how much Neal wanted to die.

It hurt more than Kate’s abandonment. More than anything else ever had: it was a betrayal that cut deeper than Neal thought he could bear. Peter had made love to him in this room. More than once, with tenderness and passion that had taken his breath away. Even now, Neal could feel those hands on him, hear that husky voice calling him sweetheart and urging him to come, to let go, to trust…

And yet to get there, to put himself into a position to do precisely that, Peter had torn Kate away, had broken Neal’s heart, had manipulated Neal into allowing himself to be chained to Peter’s side for four years. He’d outplayed Neal to such a mind-boggling extent that Neal had to wonder if he’d ever known Peter at all…

“I don’t understand why,” Neal finally said, almost brokenly. He was so close to tears… closer than he’d allowed himself to be since he’d found out… he couldn’t let them fall…

“He’s a suit; this is what they do,” Mozzie sagely declared, not realizing that the sentiment would provide none of the comfort Neal wanted right now. “You gonna play it out?”

“What choice do I have?” Neal asked. He was torn; he wanted to run, to disappear, but he’d considered the option and it would take money he didn’t have, time to set up, and then there was the matter of getting Kate before Peter noticed he was gone…

“They’ve got you off your anklet for this one,” Mozzie reminded him softly, putting his glasses back on. “You could run.”

“I’d need some cash,” Neal prevaricated.

“We can get cash,” Mozzie reminded him practically. “So what are you going to do?”

Neal took a moment, meeting his friend’s gaze, measuring his options. Mozzie had been there for him when no one else had. Had supported him almost from the beginning. Had never tried to change him. Had never broken his heart.

He could run. Moz would help him. He could get Kate and they could disappear and it would be the end. They would go somewhere that Peter would never find them, and Neal would never have to be reminded of what he’d lost. Would never have to see ghosts of a chance that might have been wonderful in every shadow.

“Get the money,” he commanded, his voice soft and decisive. He was going to run, and Peter Burke could go to Hell.

* * *

The mass briefing was almost a buzzing in his ears as he stood across the room from Peter, his arms crossed and staring unwavering at the man he’d loved. Part of him, the part that would eventually grieve the loss, was storing up every line of that handsome face to last the rest of his life. The part that was still in a blinding fury over the thoroughness of Peter’s betrayal was silently gloating that it was only a matter of time before he would leave this, and Peter, behind. And the best part would be that Peter would never know why.

Lauren’s voice managed to break into his thoughts, laying out an idea for getting the boiler-room’s books by sending in another undercover as Rhymer’s CEO. The idea had merit; Neal would have backed it if Peter had prevaricated about it, but Peter jumped right on board.

“We create the right back story; give this CEO a working history… could fly,” Peter mused. “Question is: who do we send?”

“How about you?” Neal found himself suggesting. “You look like a guy people can trust.” _I trusted you… you still have no idea how much… but I never will again._ Peter looked a little abashed, as if Neal’s words were a compliment. Neal couldn’t stop himself from twisting the knife. “But I’d also believe you could be bought, for the right price.”

The look on Peter’s face turned confused, suspicious, uncertain. Neal pasted his best innocent smile on his face, appearing for all the world as if he hadn’t just accused Peter of something. “If you played it right, I mean.”

Peter looked unconvinced, glancing around at the other agents as if suddenly realizing that they were surrounded. “All right, that’s all,” he said brusquely, dismissing the assemblage. He then stepped forward and put a hand on Neal’s back. “Do we have a problem?”

Once, Neal would have leaned into that touch, whispered almost flirtatiously and thrilled at the idea that they could be so close in the office. Now, he kept his arms crossed and leaned as far away from Peter’s body as their positions would allow, wanting to slap that hand away. The touch still made his body burn, but he tamped it down. He would never give in to his desire for this man again. “Why would there be a problem?” Neal asked ingenuously. “No, I’m just excited to see you go undercover. It doesn’t happen very often.”

“Happens more than you think,” Peter replied, a bit of pride in his voice. “I still have some active aliases.”

 _You didn’t need one with Kate, though, did you? She already knew you… I thought I knew you…_ “You’re a man of many faces,” Neal replied blandly. Before Peter could respond, Neal turned and walked away.

* * *

Finding out that Madison was being frozen out was disturbing; Neal hadn’t liked what he’d seen in Avery’s eyes, and he didn’t want to know what might happen if Madison had somehow been exposed as a mole. Neal could only keep going, knowing that Lauren and Jones were in the van listening to every word.

Peter was meeting with Avery today in the guise of the CEO of Rhymer Pharmaceuticals. Under normal circumstances, Neal would barely be able to sit still, afire with curiosity and a little worry for Peter gnawing at the edges. Today, he wouldn’t acknowledge such feelings. He was back in his element, letting go of the guise of an FBI consultant and playing his role as if he really were part of this scheme. It was ingenious, after all, and Neal knew he could use the practice for later… after he and Kate ran…

He didn’t talk to Peter that night, or Saturday. Neal spent the time planning, strategizing. There had to be a way to find Kate, to get a message to her that Peter wouldn’t intercept, to let her know that he knew and he was going to get her and it was all right now…

Sunday was skeet-shooting at Avery’s estate on the mainland. Neal hated guns; had never been comfortable around or with them. But Peter was expected to be here, and so was he. So he hung with the boys and watched for Peter’s arrival, passing every time someone tried to give him a turn with the shotgun.

Sure enough, Peter appeared on the portico, looking devastatingly attractive in his casual clothes. Neal clamped down on the thread of need that laced through his blood, willing himself to remember that whatever feelings he bore for this man, even the lust, were a construct, a result of Peter’s careful, callous manipulation.

Neal wanted to hate Peter. He almost convinced himself that he did. So he concentrated on dealing with the crew outside and ignored any tiny niggle of residual worry that he felt when he saw Peter disappear into the house with Avery.

Some time later, Peter walked out of the house with Avery looking calm and casual: a master of the universe. Avery introduced him as Mr. Edison before asking who was up to shoot.

“Nick is,” Brad piped up.

“Nah, I’m good, man” Neal demurred again. “You go ahead.”

“Dude’s been passing on us all day!” Brad looked dismayed at the idea, like it was a foreign concept to him that someone wouldn’t want to shoot at a little clay disc with a gun as long as your leg.

“Not really a gun guy,” Neal replied coldly.

“That’s all right,” came Peter’s condescending voice. He had a shotgun in his hands and was loading two fresh rounds of ammunition. “Let the grownups play with the big boy toys.”

The expression on Peter’s face was so smug… it set off Neal’s temper. Against his better judgment, he found himself stepping closer, almost into Peter’s space, his tone challenging. “Do I know you?”

“No, I don’t think you do,” Peter replied calmly.

 _No… I really don’t,_ Neal mused. _I thought I did._ He barely heard Brad telling him to back off, almost didn’t register that all eyes were on them, especially the sociopath whose gun Peter was holding.

“It’s all right,” Peter told Brad, his gaze never leaving Neal’s. “Is there a problem, Nick?”

Neal didn’t answer, even when Peter’s head quirked in silent questioning. He just stood there, eyes locked on Peter’s, willing himself not to do something stupid, wanting to lash out…

Avery’s voice cut in, cool as glass. “Nick, take the shot.”

Neal glanced at him, then reached out and took the shotgun from Peter’s hands. He’d shown Peter what he could do with words. Time to give Peter a different kind of show. “Pull,” he called. The trap sprang, launching the bird. Neal snapped the shotgun closed with a quick jerk of his arm, braced it against his shoulder and fired. The clay disc exploded mid-flight. “Pull,” he called again, ice in his veins. His second shot was as deadly accurate as his first.

He turned in time to see the surprise on Peter’s face, the hesitation, before Peter turned to look at him with only questions in his eyes. “Just because I don’t like guns doesn’t mean I can’t use one,” he told Peter with quiet menace.

It felt like a threat. He wanted it to be. He wanted Peter to think Neal would shoot him if he were pushed too far. He felt like he could in that moment: anger and betrayal riding him so hard that Neal wanted nothing more than to reload and turn the shotgun on Peter…

The urge melted as Peter took the gun back from him, the comments of the others lost in the blur… and then Neal caught sight of Madison on the portico. She was being all but pulled into the house, and Neal could feel the fear radiating off her even at a distance. Peter saw it too, and caught Neal’s eyes, plainly unhappy.

Avery watched Neal’s face, measuring for a moment. He then took the gun from Peter, loaded fresh ammunition, and told him and Peter to stay outside. Neal caught Brad as he walked past. “Hey, man; why’s Madison here?”

“Just shoot some birds, man,” Brad replied, not answering as he walked away.

Concern for an innocent woman overrode Neal’s anger with Peter. There were other things at stake now. “They know she’s the mole,” he told Peter, urgency lacing his voice.

“Dammit,” Peter snapped quietly. “This is gonna go bad, fast.” After a moment of consideration, Peter apparently came to a decision. “Back my play.”

 _Trust you again? Even now?_ “No.” Neal’s voice was cold, firm. He wished he was carved out of stone.

“Neal, what is wrong with you?” Peter demanded quietly.

“I saw your ring.” The words came out before Neal could stop them, driven by the hurt that still ripped him apart inside.

“What?”

Neal stepped closer, further into Peter’s space, hissing furiously, “I know you’ve got Kate!”

“A lot of us have those rings,” Peter whispered harshly. “Not now! Back my play.” He stepped away from Neal, leaving a wash of confusion in his wake even as he called out to Avery. “Hey, Avery! This guy’s been playing you! You’ve got yourself a spy.”

“What, are you selling me out now?” Neal hissed, aghast.

Peter turned to face him, willing Neal to understand. “ _Trust me._ I’ll explain it later.” He then turned back to the approaching Avery. “I knew I recognized this sonuvabitch!”

“What do you mean?” Avery asked. His tone was quiet; his tone was always quiet. Nothing seemed to affect him one way or the other, which only served to set off more alarms in Neal’s head.

“Search him,” Peter insisted. The crew obeyed, and Neal just stood there, letting them, his muscles locked from anger and confusion. “Check everything; check his pockets.”

They found the Eagle. Neal stood, unmoving, silent, as Brad opened it and drew out the internal electronics that should not have been in the pen it appeared to be.

“What is that?” Avery asked. Neal watched as Avery drew closer, refusing to answer as the serpentine little man took the device from Brad. “What is this?” When Neal refused to answer again, Avery pressed the button. His question played back to him, declaring to everyone what the device was for, and Neal knew he would need to answer the next question. Avery chuckled, a mirthless sound, and stepped closer. “Who are you?”

Peter prompted him with a look, and Neal couldn’t wait any more. “Like he said,” Neal responded slowly, “I’m a spy.”

“Two years ago, this guy tried to extort me on insider trading,” Peter put in, leaping into the silence. “You can’t trust him.”

“Oh, I’m the one you can’t trust?” Neal snapped. “That’s a good one.”

“Who are you?” Avery insisted, his tone never changing. “SEC? FBI?”

“You really thing the FBI could afford a gadget like that?” Peter scoffed. His eyes barely left Neal’s, trying to communicate volumes outside the lies they were telling. “No. He’s a corporate spy.”

“Who do you work for?” Avery demanded, stepping into Neal’s space again.

“Your partner,” Neal replied. He saw the relief on Peter’s face that he was finally playing along, hating himself for it but knowing there was no other way. “Daniel Reed?”

“Reed?” Avery asked incredulously.

“You think he doesn’t know what you’ve been planning?” Neal replied, wanting to make someone squirm and enjoying the sight of the little sociopath discomfited. “He’s been onto you for months.”

Avery stepped back, considering his options. Neal and Peter kept glancing at each other, waiting. “You take Madison home,” Avery finally told two sycophants behind Neal. “Put her in her car; give her a bottle of wine. Tell her she’s Employee of the Month.”

When the two left to do as they were told, Avery turned away from Neal. “How do we keep this quiet?” Brad asked him.

“We’re gonna put him on that trap and we’re gonna launch him off the front lawn,” Avery said with chilling nonchalance.

“You’re really gonna play the whole ‘bad guy’ thing?” Peter’s tone was amused condescension, as if he were talking to a simpleton. “No. You buy him; flip him on Reed.”

“What’s Reed planning?” Avery demanded, gesturing at Neal with the shotgun in his hands.

It was all Neal could do to fight down how nervous that made him. Almost reflexively, his eyes sought a peripheral glance at Peter… his handler… even now, Peter was protecting him… “He knows you’re gonna cut him out of his half. He hired me to find out how so he can cut you out first.”

Avery never took his eyes from Neal, but he addressed his question to Peter. “How am I supposed to flip him if I can’t even trust him?”

“Pay me in stock,” Neal supplied quickly. “I help you, I get rich. I screw you, I get nothing.” Avery appeared to accept the idea, turning away. “I want five percent,” Neal called after him.

Both Peter and Avery turned to stare at him as if they didn’t believe their ears. Avery laughed another little mirthless chuckle. “Got cojones on this one,” he murmured to Peter. Peter made a soft sound of agreement. “I hear two-”

“Three,” Neal bargained. This was important; he needed to appear out for whatever he could get… wouldn’t let himself be out-bargained by this psychotic punk… Peter’s mouth dropped open a little further, as if he genuinely thought Neal had lost his mind…

“Okay,” Avery finally said. He stepped close one last time, placing the innards of the Eagle back in Neal’s shirt pocket. “Three. Now get the Hell off my property.”

“I’ll take him,” Peter offered. He let just the barest hint of malice leak into his tone. “I’ve got to get going anyway, and he and I can… clear the air… about what happened two years ago.”

Avery glanced at Peter for a moment, but appeared to be fooled by the animosity between the two men. It was real enough, with Neal’s blue eyes shooting daggers at Peter now that the danger had passed. “If you want,” Avery said with a shrug. He then gestured to Neal with the shotgun again. “You don’t show up in my room again. If I want you, I’ll call you.”

Neal merely shrugged in response, and Peter put a hand on his back to push him forward. “Come on.”

Once they were in Peter’s car and safely away from Avery’s house, Peter exploded at him. “What the Hell is wrong with you, Neal!? You almost blew our cover back there!”

“Me? What the Hell do you think is wrong with me?” Neal’s rage finally exploded past all control. “You’ve got Kate! You’ve been manipulating both of us for months! You’re the one that convinced her to leave me; you knew I’d break out to try and find her. You’ve got her hidden away somewhere, scared to death of you and what you might do. Meanwhile, you’ve got me on a two-mile leash, helping you put people just like me in a place I’d rather die than go back to, and you’re fucking me on the side like I’m your bought-and-paid-for whore! Goddammit, Peter, you’ve even got Elizabeth convinced that you love me! You set this whole thing up to get me to trust you, to make me think you were the only person I could trust. Well, the trust is gone, Peter, and so am I as soon as this case is over.”

Peter was stunned… more than. He found the first place to pull over that he could, locking out the door controls so Neal couldn’t jump out, and took Neal’s face in his hands. Neal grabbed his wrists, trying to pull his hands away, but Peter’s grip locked and he surged forward, his lips slanting hard across Neal’s mouth.

Neal struggled to free himself from the kiss, trying to ignore the traitorous way his body yielded, yearned… He bit down on Peter’s lip hard, trying to draw blood. Peter’s lips pulled free and his teeth nipped Neal’s own lower lip in chastisement before he drew back far enough to look into those angry, aching blue eyes.

“I’m not the one controlling Kate,” Peter told him softly. “I did not devise a plan to make you break out of prison. I did not concoct a scheme that would make you suggest becoming an FBI consultant rather than spend four more years inside for said break-out with an anklet to ensure your compliance. I certainly didn’t come up with some elaborate scheme to get you into bed, and if you ever call yourself a whore again, I’ll turn you over my knee and spank the sense back into you.”

“You’ll never get close enough,” Neal warned. A spike of raw need shot straight down his spine at the image those words evoked, causing a wave of heat in his gut that nearly had him kissing Peter in spite of himself…

Peter saw the dilation of Neal’s eyes, wanted to draw him into the back seat and seduce the mistrust and anger and hurt out of him… but he stupidly didn’t have lube in the car, and Neal was in no state to accept his attentions for what they were, anyway. “We are going to the house. I’m going to show you the ring, and we are going to talk this out. I didn’t betray you, Neal… and believe me, if you run, there will be nowhere for you to hide. I will find you, no matter how long it takes. No matter how far. I _will_ find you.”

Neal’s breath shook, his pulse racing with a dangerous combination of lust, anger and the thrill of the chase. The idea of taking Peter on again as a serious adversary… of running just to see if Peter could catch him… of not knowing whether Peter would throw him in jail or just down on the nearest flat surface and fuck him senseless when he finally did…

Slowly, torturously, Peter released Neal’s face, withdrew back to the driver’s seat, and started the car again. He’d gotten Neal to listen. He just hoped Neal would still do so when they got back to Manhattan.

* * *

As soon as they got to the house, Peter all but pushed Neal through the door. Elizabeth glanced at the two men in surprise; the air between them seemed to crackle with nearly-open hostility. “What’s going on?”

“We’re having our first fight,” Peter said brusquely. “Neal, you wait down here. I’ll be right back.” He turned and went up the stairs before Neal could say a word.

Eyes round in surprise, Elizabeth turned to Neal. “Neal, honey, what’s going on?”

“Peter is ‘The Man With the Ring’,” Neal told her, his face almost ashen, his eyes dark and distant. “He’s the one who has Kate.”

“Neal, you can’t seriously believe that.” Elizabeth prodded him into a chair at the dining table. “Peter would never do that to you.”

“I didn’t think so, either, but he’s wearing this ring…” Neal pulled a copy of the ATM photograph of Kate with The Man With the Ring’s hand on her shoulder from his pocket and showed it to Elizabeth. “…in that photo of the two of you on the stairs.” Neal shook his head, setting the photo down, his heart still hammering in his chest. He was sure Elizabeth could hear it. The whole way back from Avery’s, Peter’s words kept echoing in the vaults of his mind… drowning out the facts… he wanted to believe…

“Neal, are you out of your mind?” Elizabeth demanded. “Peter doesn’t ‘have’ Kate.”

“You sure about that?” Neal asked.

“Yes,” she insisted. “I am.”

“How often is he gone, Elizabeth?” Neal pressed. “How many late nights when you don’t know where he is?”

“Okay, stop it.” Elizabeth lost her patience. “Peter is the best thing that ever happened to you, and you’re smart enough to know that.”

“Yeah, well…” Neal picked up the photo again for emphasis. “He has the ring.”

“That’s your evidence?” Peter asked, joining them at the table, putting the ring in front of Neal and standing between Neal and Elizabeth’s chairs. “Here’s the ring. It’s a ten year FBI pin: put in ten years, you get one. Most of us have them made into a ring.”

“I’ve never seen you wear it,” Neal protested.

“It’s a fraternity thing.”

“Come with us to the next Bureau commendation dinner,” Elizabeth urged. “You’ll see hundreds of them.”

“Will I get one?”

Peter looked at Neal, who was gazing up at Peter almost impudently, like a teenager asking for a new game system after being caught sneaking out after curfew. “No.”

A chuckle. Neal wasn’t sure who was first, but it echoed from all three of them. He’d been a fool, had lost trust so easily… had almost run out on Peter for no reason. He looked up at Peter again, his heart in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Peter.”

“I promise you,” Peter said solemnly, “we’ll figure out who it is.”

“Whoever it is, is with the Bureau,” Neal asserted.

“Yup, that is a problem,” Peter agreed. “But I need you to help me get Avery first. Go in and play Reed against him.”

“Make him think his partner’s betraying him?” Neal stood, needing to go, to clear his head and re-acclimate himself to the fact that Peter hadn’t, in fact, done that very thing.

“Maybe he’ll do something stupid,” Peter observed sardonically.

Neal folded the picture of Kate, leaving the ring on the table, and grabbed his jacket. He stepped past Peter without touching him. He really needed to walk and think and clear the shadows out of his mind. They had work to do, and Peter needed him. “Thank you, guys.”

“It’s all right,” Peter murmured as he sat down in the chair Neal had just vacated.

“You gonna tell him that you met with Kate?” Elizabeth asked once the door was closed and Neal was gone.

“I don’t think he’d trust me enough for me to tell him what happened that night,” Peter replied. He felt drained, and the thought of opening up a new fight with Neal over Kate felt like a weight pressing down on Peter’s chest. “After the case… then I’ll decide.”

Elizabeth reached out and took his hand, smiling supportively. “At least he believes you,” she offered softly. “That’s something.”

“You should have heard the things he said, El…” Peter sighed heavily, his hand wrapping around the ring that had caused all the trouble. “We promised to trust each other… but he wouldn’t come talk to me… he’s been carrying around all this anger for days; I can only imagine what plans he put in motion while he’s been alone and upset… he threatened to run when the case is over.”

“You don’t think he still will, do you?” she asked in alarm.

“No… it was a just a threat,” Peter assured her. “If he’d really been serious about it, he wouldn’t have told me. He’d just have vanished.”

Elizabeth stood and kissed his cheek. “Just make sure you two have a long talk when the case is over. Whether you tell him about meeting with Kate or not, you have a lot you need to work out.”

“Yeah,” Peter agreed. His ring still pressed tightly into his palm; such a little thing to have almost cost him Neal… “Yeah, we do.”


	3. Hard Sell Redux – Part Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see Chapter One for warnings, notes, disclaimers and song list.

  
[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/ladyeternal/pic/00004ab7/)  


~ooooOOOoooo~

 

It was Wednesday before Avery called him again. It gave Neal time to think, to re-evaluate. Peter not being able to put the anklet back on him yet made it easier; he felt almost free again, and the lack of chafing at his ankle was a continuing sign of Peter’s unbroken trust in him.

He had dinner with Peter and Elizabeth on Tuesday night, and Peter was sweet, affectionate, saying nothing about their fight or Neal’s threat to run. Neal wasn’t sure what to do with that. Peter had every right to be furious with him. He simply wasn’t. It didn’t make sense; after how angry Neal had been over a perceived betrayal, why wasn’t Peter angry right back over Neal suspecting him? Peter’s apparent forgiveness of the entire situation was completely unexpected.

 _After the case,_ Neal decided. _I’ll talk to him about it after the case is over._

It would likely be after the case was over before he and Moz would reconnect as well, and Neal wasn’t looking forward to telling Moz that he’d changed his mind about running. Telling him that it was to try and get Kate free of ‘The Man With the Ring’, who was _not_ Peter, would mollify Moz somewhat. It would be the truth, too, but it wouldn’t be the complete truth. Neal was staying because there was more to play out than just the chess game with ‘The Man With the Ring’. There was his relationship with Peter… the fact that he loved Peter…

That was definitely something that Moz would _never_ understand. Moz would believe that either Peter was manipulating him or Neal had simply lost his mind. Either way, Neal didn’t want to deal with Mozzie’s reaction. He had enough to handle right now.

Meeting with Avery on Wednesday and convincing Reed that Avery was double-crossing him was easy. After all, Avery apparently didn’t think Neal would continue to use the Eagle now that Avery had seen it. It was an arrogant miscalculation, but one Neal was grateful for. After all, it got him the information they needed about Avery’s books.

Finding out about Avery’s airtight vault and fire-suppression system cum hands-free murder weapon was a moment Neal would remember for the rest of his life. Dimly, he knew that was the fate that had been in store for Madison if he and Peter hadn’t been there or acted quickly enough. More important was the fact that Peter had been in that room with that sociopath. _Alone._

“When triggered,” Lauren was saying, “a polycarbonate glass wall seals the room and then a hydraulic vacuum sucks out the oxygen. Fire dies; no damage to what’s inside.”

“And if I’m in there, no air to breathe,” Neal added, his voice strained.

“Well, there is a kill switch,” Lauren offered, only to add, “but we don’t know where it is.”

 _If Avery had suspected Peter… if Peter hadn’t been quite as good as he is… Peter would have died in that room while I stood outside hating him. I wouldn’t have known the truth until it was too late to make it right._ “Wonderful,” Neal almost croaked.

“Tech lab has another cool gadget for you,” Jones said, almost brightly. He held up a slim tube. “This mini-breather will give you five minutes of air, just in case the system is triggered.”

“It’ll fit perfectly in one of these.” Peter handed Neal a single silver cigar tube to go with the breather.

The image of Peter, lying dead and suffocated on the floor, wouldn’t leave his mind. Peter hadn’t had this with him on Sunday. Peter hadn’t known he might need anything like it… “Cigar tube!” Neal said, covering his upset with enthusiasm. “Nice… FBI’s been watching _**Thunderball**_. Breaking out all the toys on this one, guys.”

“Anything happens,” Peter assured him, “Jones and Lauren will be stationed with a unit right outside the property.”

“Five minutes’ worth of air,” Neal repeated. He looked at Jones. “What’s your response time?”

Jones glanced uneasily at Peter. “R…oughly five minutes.”

“Roughly?” Neal felt his voice try to go up an octave and fought to maintain his composure.

“I’ll be at the house to back you up in case anything goes wrong,” Peter said calmly.

That did not calm Neal. He’d never had to do anything like this with Peter before… and he’d never tried anything remotely this dangerous with Kate… “How you gonna pull that off?” Neal asked, trying not to spring from his seat and urge Peter to stay where he’d be safe…

“They’re dumping the shares on Friday, so Avery wants to have a little party to celebrate,” Peter advised him. “We’re both on the invite list.”

“So…” Neal fought to push words through his suddenly dry throat. “Just… just so I’m clear: um… if anything goes wrong, I suffocate.” _Because that’s the something-going-wrong I can handle… nothing can go wrong with Peter… nothing bad can happen to Peter…_

“Then we’ll make sure nothing goes wrong,” Peter assured him coolly before turning to leave.

Neal watched as Peter left the room, a confidence in his tone and his step that made Neal want to crawl inside him and not come out. Neal was a confidence man by trade; he exuded it, gave it to others when they shouldn’t possess it, bartered and sold it like trinkets at a county fair. But now, in this moment, he needed some for himself. And he needed it to be real.

“Or I could just practice holding my breath,” he murmured softly.

* * *

When Peter took Neal back to June’s Wednesday night, Neal knew it was the last time they would be alone together before the party. Peter was spending tomorrow night with Elizabeth, the way he always did before a dangerous case.

Elizabeth had said she got equal time, because she was his wife. She’d said that when she gave Neal ‘Rule Two’… which was that Neal was not less important to Peter than she was.

When Peter pulled onto June’s block, Neal made his decision. “I’m invoking Rule Two,” he said with finality.

Peter blinked at him. “What?”

“Rule Two: I’m not less important than El. She gets you tomorrow. I want you tonight.”

It was the last thing either of them had expected, given how much had happened between them in the last week. But Peter measured those blue eyes, so like Elizabeth’s in that moment: all steel and concern and need; and he merely nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Neal sent Elizabeth a text message from his phone while Peter pulled in and parked at June’s house. His entire body was vibrating. He needed… he needed…

He needed Peter to live through this weekend. No matter what might happen to him, Peter had to get out okay.

June wasn’t in residence at the moment; Peter was startled by that. It continually surprised him that June would actually leave her house for days at a time with a convicted felon in residence. Apparently, Neal had won her trust long before he’d won Peter’s. Then again, June was a quick judge of character. Maybe she’d seen right through Neal from the beginning, and saw that he wouldn’t betray her trust.

The moment they got up to Neal’s rooms, Neal rather quickly disabused Peter of any notions about dinner or talking or anything that constituted a normal quiet evening with Elizabeth before a big case. Neal merely shut the door, locked it, and then turned to Peter and threw himself at him like a starving man on a loaf of bread.

Peter’s blazer and tie and shirt were off before Peter could react; Neal was determined, driven, his hands impatient and his body pressing Peter’s back into the bedroom with singular intent. There was no opportunity for words, questioning or otherwise, until Neal had backed Peter into the bed and Peter had stumbled and dropped onto it, and then Neal was on his knees before him, his hands pulling away the remainder of Peter’s clothing with almost savage disregard for their integrity.

“Neal…”

“Not now, Peter.” Neal’s hands ran from Peter’s knees to his waist to his chest, resting there over his beating heart as Neal leaned up to kiss his lips again. He couldn’t get enough of Peter just now… enough taste or touch or smell… _Peter… my Peter… I can’t lose him… I can’t…_

Peter tried again as Neal’s mouth trailed hot and open down the column of his throat. “Neal… tell me…”

“Shut up, Peter.” Neal’s teeth sank gently into Peter’s collarbone, careful not to leave a mark but sharp enough to drive a gasp through Peter’s lips. “That’s the only sound I want to hear from you right now.”

The heated words when straight to Peter’s groin and he groaned, his hands reaching up to sink into Neal’s hair. “That one’s good too,” Neal murmured, and then his lips latched around Peter’s nipple and sucked hard, his teeth tugging at the peaking nub. It drew another gasping moan from Peter’s mouth that Neal memorized the moment he heard it.

Peter didn’t try to talk again. Neal was insistent, aggressive, on fire. His nimble fingers stroked down Peter’s thighs and scored up his calves and smoothed along his hips as Neal’s mouth traced a path of suck marks and love bites down Peter’s torso. He had a feeling Elizabeth would leave hers tomorrow, and he wanted to leave his own tonight.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity to Peter and not nearly long enough to Neal, Neal’s tongue flicked out across the weeping tip of Peter’s erection. Peter let out a harsh cry, his blood rushing hot in his veins. “Neal…”

“Yes, Peter…” Neal lapped at the tip again, almost teasing. “It’s me.” And then he wrapped his lips around Peter, drew in a deep breath, and held it.

Peter’s eyes rolled up into his head. The suction was unreal and Neal just stayed still, his hands braced on Peter’s thighs and his mouth hot as a furnace and it was all Peter could do not to take Neal’s hair in his fingers and hold that dark head still while his hips bucked hard into those beautiful lips.

After a moment, Neal released his breath through his nose and let his mouth sink further along Peter’s arousal. His tongue mapped the throb of the veins, and Peter’s breath came in sharp pants. As far as he could go short of a deep throat, Neal drew in his breath hard and held it again.

A gasp choked out of Peter’s lips. Neal felt him drop back against the bed, braced on his elbows. It gave Neal more access, a better angle. He exhaled again and shifted, taking just a bit more into his mouth, then slowly withdrawing. His teeth scraped ever so gently against Peter and Peter’s breath exploded out of his lungs. Neal left off the breath tricks for a moment, just savoring Peter’s taste: salt and sex and skin. He wanted to imprint this man on his memory so indelibly that it was impossible for him to fade away.

No matter what happened between them, Neal never wanted to forget this.

He drew in his breath on an upstroke, magnifying the sensation, and Peter twitched against his tongue. Neal knew Peter was close. He wasn’t done yet. Drawing away, he heard Peter’s breath rasp in his throat and watched as those burning eyes opened. “Neal?”

“Yes, Peter.” Neal unfastened his pants slowly, sliding them from his body with a stripper’s finesse and casually tossing them aside. His eyes were locked on Peter’s, who was watching with undisguised hunger as Neal’s silk boxers followed. And then those eyes widened as Neal took the lube from the drawer and, without a trace of embarrassment or hesitation, he knelt on the floor with knees braced wide and began to apply it to himself.

He was putting on a show for the third time in a week. Peter stared, eyes locked with Neal’s, as Neal used two fingers to massage the lubricant into his own posterior muscles, his arousal bobbing with every movement of his hips.

Their eyes stayed locked as Neal finished, rising with a dancer’s fluid grace, stepped to the bed, and placed one hand on Peter’s chest. Peter slid back and half-reclined on his elbows again, questions in his eyes. Neal merely smiled and straddled Peter’s hips, leaving his right hand over Peter’s heart. His left hand reached back, and realization dawned in Peter’s russet flame eyes as Neal took hold of him and lowered those perfect, slender hips until Peter was sliding into the clasping warmth of Neal’s body.

“Neal!” Peter’s hands went to Neal’s waist, his mind trying to catch up. He hadn’t expected this… he wasn’t wearing protection…

“Yes, Peter.” Neal wouldn’t let Peter stop him, seating Peter inside him and feeling the beat of that boundless heart against his fingers and inside his flesh. He needed Peter inside him, no barriers, no fear. He needed to absorb Peter’s confidence into himself if he was going to see Peter through this case.

He needed Peter.

“Neal, you forgot…” Peter could hardly form words, desperately trying to think. Neal was hot and tight and they were skin to skin for the first time and it didn’t make any sense… “I…”

“I didn’t forget, Peter.” Neal bent slowly, relishing the flex of Peter inside him that the motion caused, and kissed those stammering lips. “I trust you.”

Surprise melted into acceptance. Peter’s mouth molded to his own as he gave up any protest, and Neal smiled as he shifted his hips again. A groan echoed into his mouth, and then Neal sat back up with a tender smile. Leaving his hand on Peter’s heart, he let his hips ride in the rhythm they wanted, matching the heartbeat that drummed steadily, if swiftly, within and against him.

Peter was alive, and cared, and hadn’t betrayed him.

It wasn’t long before urgency took them both, and Neal was clasped in Peter’s arms and Peter was rolling them down and driving hard into Neal’s body and Neal was thrusting up to meet him. Neal’s hand stayed over Peter’s heart, his blue eyes open and locked with Peter’s brown, and there were no words that either could have said that would have meant more than this.

Peter came first, driven close to the brink before Neal had gone down on him. The feel of Peter coming inside him, warmth washing deep into him as his name spilled past Peter’s lips, and Neal was overcome. He kissed Peter as he came, his left hand sliding up into Peter’s hair and his right still trapped against Peter’s heart.

When Peter made to move, Neal wouldn’t let him go, clinging with all his strength. “Not yet… not yet.”

“Neal…”

“Just stay… just for a minute, Peter. Please.”

Why it was so important to him, Peter wasn’t sure. But Neal needed and Peter gave. He wrapped his arms tighter around Neal’s body and rested his forehead against Neal’s and stayed, letting Neal take what he needed from the moment.

A gentle kiss, and then Neal’s grip slackened. Peter rolled with him and stood, keeping Neal’s legs wrapped around his waist and carrying him into the shower. “We need to eat at some point,” he said simply.

“I know,” Neal conceded. “There’s fruit and cheese in the fridge and a loaf of fresh bread… and wine, of course.”

“ ‘A jug of wine, a loaf of bread and thou’?” Peter quoted.

“ ‘Come: fill the Cup,’,” Neal returned, “ ‘and in the fire of Spring, your Winter-garment of Repentance fling. The Bird of Time has but a little way to flutter – and the Bird is on the Wing’.”

“You would know the Rubaiyat by heart,” Peter said ruefully.

“I know a lot of things, Peter,” Neal told him, pressing a kiss to his temple. “And I want you to make me forget all of them tonight.”

Peter chuckled and walked both of them under the water once it warmed. “I know.”

* * *

When Peter left Thursday morning to get a change of clothes, he gave Neal a soft kiss. “I’ll see you at the office in a few hours. We’re going to go over everything one more time, make sure there’s nothing we missed, and then I want you to practice using the mini-breather.”

“The tech boys can recharge it before tomorrow?” Neal’s hands were fretting, touching Peter’s hair where it refused to lie down and his suit where Neal had stressed the seams while tearing it off the night before.

“Absolutely.” Peter took those slender wrists in his hands and placed those fretting fingers against his chest. Neal’s movements stilled as he flattened his palms against the firm wall of muscle, feeling the heartbeat beneath, vital and strong. “It’s going to be fine, Neal. I promise.”

Comforted if not reassured, Neal leaned in and kissed Peter see-you-later. He refused to think of it as kissing him good-bye. “I believe you.”

* * *

Friday dawned, and Neal felt no more nerves. It was the calm before a con, settling over his mind and body like a cloak. Peter’s confidence had seeped into him, restoring his own. They could do this. They would do this together. It would be the home run they needed to prove all the nay-sayers wrong, and Avery would be in prison where he could do no more harm.

He and Peter met at the office, where Neal picked up his breather and Peter was double-checking the equipment in the van. Lauren gave Neal a reassuring smile. “Jones is taking point, since he’s the senior with Peter inside,” she told him softly. “He got top marks in tactical at Quantico. You guys’ll be fine.”

Neal smiled back, his brightest confidence grin. “Of course we will. How could we not be?”

Lauren just looked at him, her expression questioning, and then Peter called her away.

The party at Avery’s was quiet but lavish. Neal had been picked up by Avery’s car at a pre-arranged point, and so he got there after Peter. The best food; champagne practically on tap; all being served by beautiful waitresses walking amongst the boys of Avery’s room with perfectly polished smiles. Neal wanted to stick up for them when he saw one or two being propositioned, but he couldn’t without causing a stir. He needed to be the last person anyone paid attention to.

Of course, Avery made that impossible, since Brad had apparently been assigned to stick to Neal’s side for the entire party. It was the only possible reason that the little twit would stay so close after Sunday’s debacle. Neal was glad he’d taught himself to control his reactions in most circumstances; Peter aside, no one could disturb his air of nonchalance unless they moved him to extreme violence.

It was pure inspiration, seeing the waitress stepping down the hallway that Peter said led to the vault and catching Brad’s admiration of her curvaceous backside. “I got dibs on that one,” Neal told him in a confidential tone, purposely echoing Brad’s first words to him.

“Oh, yeah? Does she know that?” Brad asked.

“Since when does that matter?” Neal shared a fake laugh with him and started after the waitress, knowing Brad wouldn’t follow.

“Hey, you’re gonna be back in time for the celebration, though, right?”

Neal pulled out his cigar tube, glad for the prop. “Wouldn’t want this to go to waste,” he replied, waving it at the youngster. Ignoring Brad’s reaction, he saw Brad walk away out of the corner of his eye, set down his champagne on the breakfast bar and made his way to the vault.

After a moment of sheer incredulity that anyone would go to this much trouble to preserve off-name comics, Neal’s eyes swept the room for any sign of where the ledger might be. The wooden box on the table seemed like a dead giveaway; far too obvious. A red herring, perhaps? Still… “No…”

Stepping close and slowly lifting the lid, Neal braced for the sound of a glass wall falling. There was none, and inside was a simple-looking volume bound in black leather. The ledger? If so, then there had to be some kind of protection or booby-trap on the box that would trigger the fire-suppression system. Careful not to close the lid, Neal glanced around its exterior. “Trip wire,” he whispered to himself. It ran through a hole in the back, right into the box. “Must be a pressure plate.”

Two minutes later, Neal was all but totally absorbed in figuring out how he would beat the pressure plate without triggering the vault’s system when Peter shouted his real name, running down the hall towards him. Neal turned, saw the gun aimed at Peter’s back and didn’t hesitate. He pulled the ledger from the box just as Peter was crossing the threshold, and the polycarbonite slammed down in time to stop the shotgun blast from connecting with Peter’s unprotected back.

Both Neal and Peter had angled for the wall instinctively to avoid the shot. Neal’s eyes raked over the glass and he knew instantly that it hadn’t breached. The hydraulics had kicked in. The air was being sucked out. They only had one breather. There’d been no reason to anticipate Peter needing one, since he wasn’t supposed to go into the vault.

Neal made his decision as Peter stated their obvious need to find the kill switch. He yanked the cigar tube from his pocket and removed the breather. “Take this,” he ordered, holding it out to Peter with both hands.

“No. No!” Peter’s left hand came up to grasp Neal’s wrist, refusing to accept the device that Neal offered… he wouldn’t risk Neal’s life… “We look together; we’ll share the oxygen until Jones comes.”

“There’s not enough time,” Neal insisted. He wouldn’t let Peter throw his only chance away. _I can’t let anything happen to him._ “Five minutes for one person; two and a half minutes for two.”

“No, Neal!” Peter’s voice was agonized, refusing to accept the risk to Neal…

“We’re wasting time!” Neal locked eyes with Peter, everything he couldn’t say reflecting in his gaze. “Peter… _I trust you_.” His left hand found Peter’s right elbow and clasped tight as he pressed the breather into Peter’s right hand. He wouldn’t let go until Peter took it… couldn’t let go until Peter would be all right…

Peter’s face hardened; the air was running out and there was no time left to argue. Neal’s eyes bored into his and Peter took Neal’s only chance… _Now **I’m** his only chance._

They scrambled apart, frantically searching along walls, behind hanging matted books and cardboard boxes on metal shelves. Peter heard Neal gasp in one last breath before the last of the air was sucked out and the vacuum shut down. Not much time left. Avery and Reed were outside, watching.

Neal’s body felt like it was being encased with lead, weighted down. His head was swimming and his lungs felt ready to burst. His body insisted that it needed to breathe, even when he forced it not to, knowing there was nothing left once he exhaled. His hands clambered across the wall, sending the hanging books careening aside…

A small panel. A round black knob.

_The kill switch. Thank God! I’ve got to let Peter know! He’s got to be ready when the door opens!_

Neal turned and pounded on the wall, trying to get Peter’s attention. No air. Nothing for sound to vibrate through. Neal pounded more insistently, needing, willing Peter to hear him. To no avail. Peter was still searching for what Neal had already found. More out of frustration than anything else, Neal’s mouth opened and what little oxygen was being recycled through his lungs from his last breath escaped as he soundlessly screamed Peter’s name.

By some miracle that Neal would never want explained, Peter heard his call.

Peter turned in time to see Neal gasping for air that no longer existed, his movements jerky as he pointed to the kill switch now revealed on the wall. Relief washed through him, drowned swiftly by panic as Neal’s body shut down to protect itself before Peter’s eyes, those beautiful blue eyes rolling up and closed as he crumpled to the floor like a marionette cut from its strings.

_No, Neal! **No!**_

Peter rushed across the room, thinking only to get Neal oxygen before it was too late. There was no time to be lost. His hand was poised to hit the switch when he remembered that they weren’t in this house alone. Hand hovering over the switch that was Neal’s only chance at life, Peter’s head turned to meet the anxious eyes of Daniel Reed.

And the dead eyes of Avery Phillips, who raised his shotgun in anticipation of the door opening.

_If I open that door, he shoots. If I don’t open that door, Neal dies._

Knowing it would be fruitless before he even tried, Peter reached down and shook Neal’s shoulder. If there was a chance he could wake… if there was a trace of air left…

But Neal didn’t wake; just lay there like a spell-bound prince from a fairy tale. There was no place Peter could hide him from Avery’s sights and no way to keep him alive if they stayed too long. Jones could encounter resistance; the others in the house had access to shotguns, too. There was no time to prevaricate and nowhere to hide.

All he could do was draw Avery’s fire and hope Jones got there to save Neal before Avery could reload. Maybe get a piece of the bastard with his 9mm before he lost too much blood…

_Forgive me, El… but I can’t let him die._

_Forgive me, Neal._

All of ten seconds wasted, Peter spat out the breather, drew his sidearm and slammed his hand down on the switch.


	4. Hard Sell Redux – Part Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see Chapter One for warnings, notes, disclaimers and song list.

  
[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/ladyeternal/pic/00004ab7/)  


~ooooOOOoooo~

 

“Hands off your weapon!”

Peter had never been so happy to hear those words in his life. He stayed in position until Avery obeyed Jones’ repeated command to drop the shotgun, and then he crouched beside Neal’s still-unconscious body on the floor and set his own gun aside. Praying harder than he ever had in his life, Peter held his left hand over Neal’s mouth and nose. The rush of air into the room after the door had opened was past; he should be able to feel it…

Warm breath against his palm, whispering through Neal’s slender nose. Peter fought down a sob of relief and placed both hands on Neal’s chest. “All right… come on, Neal…” He pressed down on Neal’s chest, his fingers digging into the muscles…

The painful stimulus brought Neal back to consciousness with a gasp, blue eyes flying wide. “Attaboy,” Peter murmured, nonsensically proud of Neal for living. His left hand stayed on Neal’s chest for a moment, mirroring Neal’s gesture from Wednesday night. It was Peter’s turn to relish the feel of his lover’s heartbeat under his hand, to savor the knowledge that his lover was alive. “Breathe,” he urged Neal, his voice tender, watching those blue eyes focus on him as the world righted itself again.

 _Peter’s okay… he’s all right… we made it…_ “That was a long five minutes,” Neal commented, hearing the FBI agents arresting Avery and the others in the background. He couldn’t say what he wanted to say… not yet…

“Yeah.” Peter slipped his hand into Neal’s and shifted to pull Neal into a sitting position. “Think you can stand?”

“Not just yet,” Neal replied. He felt weak and blurry, and he wasn’t at all sure his limbs would obey him.

Without a word, Peter moved behind Neal, wrapped his left arm around Neal’s torso and pulled Neal’s right arm around his shoulders. “With me… ready?” When Neal looked at him with wide, trusting blue eyes and nodded, Peter suppressed the urge to kiss him. “One… two… three.” Peter slowly stood on three, bringing Neal up with him. Neal’s feet scrabbled for stability, but Peter’s grip never faltered.

“You won’t let me fall?” Neal asked as Peter slowly turned them to walk out of the vault.

“Not unless I’m there to catch you,” Peter promised.

The agents who weren’t busily clearing the house or arresting Avery’s crew applauded, shouted variants on ‘nice job, Neal’, and grinned at both of them as Peter escorted Neal out onto the portico. Lauren caught up with them as Peter was lowering Neal to the concrete. “Does he need a bus? We had one standing by when we heard the shots fired.”

Peter evaluated Neal for a moment, and then shook his head. “No; he’s okay. Just a little woozy. He just needs some air and to get his legs under him again, and then I’ll take him home. Get these guys back to the city and wrap things up. Tomorrow morning, we meet at the office and write this up.”

Smiling at Neal, Lauren gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Good job in there, Neal,” she said, meaning it.

“Thanks, Lauren.” Neal smiled weakly at her as she walked away.

Jones finished coordinating things with the agents inside, and then came out to report to Peter. “Soon as Neal’s good to go, forensics will cordon off the scene and get the physical evidence collected. We’ll get this crew to the detention center. You good, Peter?”

“Yeah, we’ll be fine. I told Lauren that you guys should take off as soon as you can wrap up tonight; we’ll do paperwork tomorrow morning.”

“You got it.” Jones looked down at Neal, who was looking less ashen now that he was outdoors and could breathe again. “Got a bottle of brandy with your name on it, Neal. Was a Helluva thing you did in there.”

“I didn’t do anything you wouldn’t have, Jones,” Neal said. It was the truth. He knew these agents would give their lives for each other, and Jones had backed Peter’s play to clear Neal of the pink diamond theft without question. Jones would have given Peter the breather, too… but not for the same reasons Neal had.

“Still…” Jones looked back at Peter and handed him the bag with his gear. “The new anklet’s in here. The Marshalls said just call when you activate it.”

Peter nodded. “Go on, Jones; we’re okay here.” With a last smile at Neal, Jones left them. Peter sat down beside Neal, shaking his head. The arrestees were being filed out, the scene being cleared. They would soon be alone…

They couldn’t stay. Peter couldn’t make love to Neal on the grass and let Neal breathe and just go back in the morning. He had to take Neal back to June’s, had to put the anklet back on him… and he had to tell Neal about Kate. What Neal had done, what Neal had risked… Neal had trusted Peter with his life. Peter owed him the truth.

“What you did in there…” Peter started, not sure how to lead into what needed to be said between them.

“Eh, I knew you’d take care of it,” Neal cut in. _Don’t tell me I shouldn’t have, Peter, because I should and I did and I will again. I can’t let anything happen to you._

 _You shouldn’t have risked your life, Neal… it’s my job to take the bullets, not yours…_ “Crazier than I am,” Peter said instead.

It gave Neal pause, to hear Peter put it like that. Did Peter really think he was crazy to put Peter’s life before his own? “You got my back, right?” Neal asked, a little hesitant. He needed confirmation just now that Peter wouldn’t leave him without a net… really would always be there to catch him if he fell…

Peter just nodded, choosing his words carefully. There was no graceful way to start this, and he needed Neal to listen without giving in to the magnificent temper he’d witnessed only a few days ago… _Days? It feels like years since that afternoon…_ “Something I need to tell you…” he started slowly, “and I need you to listen to everything before you react.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Neal muttered, willing to listen but fearing the worst. _What now? Fowler? Elizabeth? Is Peter sick?_

“I know what he wants from you,” Peter said simply.

“Who?”

“The guy in the picture with Kate; you call him ‘The Man With the Ring’?”

Neal felt like his world dropped out from beneath him. It was a sensation he was experiencing far too often lately for his liking. “How could you know that?” he whispered, not trusting himself any louder.

“Kate told me,” Peter said gently. “And now, I’m going to tell you.”

“You talked to Kate?” Neal asked, incredulous. He couldn’t believe his own ears. How could Peter not have told him before now?

“The night you confronted Fowler,” Peter confirmed.

“Yeah, he said he was investigating you.” Neal didn’t understand the connection.

“He is.” Peter reached into the bag beside him and retrieved a copy of the same ATM photo that Neal had carried for the last several months. “This picture was on my desk the same day that you had it.”

Neal felt his temper spike. “And you never said anything?”

“What was I going to tell you?” Peter defended. “I recognized the ring. This guy with Kate is _with_ the Bureau. I started poking around, trying to figure out who it is…”

“It’s _Fowler_ ,” Neal insisted hotly, convinced that his initial suspicions about the man were correct.

“I think so,” Peter agreed.

“Of course!” Neal suddenly made a connection that hadn’t made sense before. “Yeah: you start digging around; that’s when he bugged your phone.”

“The phone, the OPR investigation… Operation Mentor… _all_ of it.” Peter’s expression was grim. “He wanted to know what I was onto.”

“And that was Kate?” Neal couldn’t keep the hope out of his tone. As much as he loved Peter, he still loved Kate… still needed to get her away from Fowler…

“I passed word to her saying I wanted to meet… talk about you.”

“What happened?”

Peter tried to ignore the stab of hurt at the eagerness in Neal’s voice. He knew what he was about to tell Neal was going to hurt him, likely break his heart all over again… but Neal deserved to know the truth, and Peter wasn’t going to hide it from him anymore. They were well past the point where there was any need.

“I arranged the meet for a hotel room; reserved it for a night and told Kate to pick up the key at the desk. I got there early to wait for her. When she got there, she pulled a gun on me as soon as she closed the door.” The shock and concern rippled across Neal’s face; Peter knew how Neal felt about guns and their close call would likely make Neal even touchier about such things. “I told her to put the gun down, and eventually she did. Had to show her my own ring, first. She pretended not to know Fowler’s name; he might have given her an alias, but she didn’t exactly give a convincing performance, either.

“I told her to leave you alone,” he continued. The hurt and anger in Neal’s eyes at his presumption cut sharply, but Peter had to tell the whole story. Neal had promised not to react until he’d heard everything. “She said she couldn’t, so I asked why. I knew she was angling for something you took; you told me so. I asked her what it was… even promised to get it for her.

“She didn’t believe I’d do it; wanted to know why I was offering to transfer stolen property, commit a felony to give her what she wanted. I told her the truth, Neal; told her the same reasons I’ve told you to stay away from her: you’re smart, and you’re good, and Kate’s done nothing but twist you in knots and I’m tired of watching it happen.” Peter was surprised by the heat in his voice, could see Neal’s surprise as well. But it was the truth. He cared for Neal far too much to keep watching Kate spin Neal like a top for the pure Hell of it. “I told her that she had to let you go. She told me that her price… her price to let you go… is some kind of special music box you stole.”

 _Catherine’s amber music box?_ Neal was stunned. It was such a strange piece for Kate to want… _Why? What could Kate want it for?_

“I’d gotten what I needed… I was about to leave…” Peter wasn’t entirely sure about telling Neal this part. He’d promised to tell Neal everything… but he wasn’t sure Neal would believe him. “I couldn’t help myself, Neal. I had to ask her… I had to know if she’d ever really loved you, or if it had just been part of her game.” Peter’s mouth went dry, and he had to force out the words that he knew would cut Neal’s heart to ribbons. “She couldn’t answer me, Neal. She just stared at me. Not a ‘how can you even think I don’t?’ stare… a stare like she hadn’t expected the question… like she didn’t have a ready answer.”

Neal visibly recoiled, his eyes going wide and bruised. Peter resisted the urge to pull him close and kiss the pain away. “I didn’t wait for her to try and come up with the answer she thought I wanted. I told her to tell Fowler that I knew what the game was, and that I’m not backing off. She warned me not to push him, and I left.” Peter drew in a deep breath. “That’s it… that’s everything.”

For a moment, Neal rocked back and forth, his mind desperately calculating. When Kate had broken up with him while he was in prison, he’d been sure it was because she was tired of waiting. Then, when he saw the message she’d tapped out on her thigh and began following her clues, he’d come to the conclusion that it had been a sham, that she hadn’t meant a word… that they would be together again once he took care of ‘The Man With the Ring’. Now… now the game had changed again. If Peter was right… if, even after everything, Kate really didn’t care about him like he did her…?

No. Neal wouldn’t accept that. Wouldn’t accept that his heart had been conned. “He’s controlling her,” Neal swore fervently. _He has to be… it’s the only explanation…_

“I don’t think so,” Peter refuted gently.

Neal wouldn’t believe it… couldn’t believe it… “She’s not working for him, Peter.”

Peter’s tone lost some of its gentleness. “Neal, when are you gonna face the facts here? She may not be on your side-”

“You’re wrong,” Neal asserted stubbornly.

“Oh, she- damn it, Neal! Come on!” Peter shot to his feet, paced away from Neal and then turned back, anger no longer allowing him to mince his words. “I looked into her eyes! I didn’t see concern for you.”

Neal fought tears back, hating himself and Fowler and the entire situation. He understood now what Elizabeth had meant: sooner or later, Peter and Kate would make him choose. There could be no middle ground for Neal like there was for Peter; Kate was no Elizabeth. And Peter would fight as hard as he could to keep Neal from going back to someone that he thought would hurt Neal. “No. This is an angle,” Neal told him, unwilling to face what Peter was saying.

“She wants this music box,” Peter said angrily. “Do you know where it is?”

 _Yes… but there’s a problem I **really** don’t want to tell you about._ “I might.”

“Come on!” Peter snapped. “You’re gonna cut me off now?”

Neal almost winced at the reminder of what they were… how far they’d come… the trust he’d promised to give in exchange for Peter’s… “I know where it is,” Neal admitted.

“Good,” Peter sighed. “So what is it?”

“Catherine the Great had a room in her palace in St. Petersburg made entirely out of amber,” Neal told him. “You’ve heard of it?”

“Yeah… it was dubbed ‘The Eighth Wonder of the World’. The Nazis looted it in World War II.” It was Peter’s turn not to see the connection.

“Well, one of the things they took was an amber music box.”

“That’s gotta be worth a few bucks,” Peter mused.

“Yeah… but not enough for all this.” Neal shook his head. Just like when he’d talked the problem over with Mozzie, nothing he had seemed to be important enough or valuable enough to warrant the lengths that Kate and Fowler were going to… especially not the music box…

Peter’s mind made the connection at the same time Neal’s did. “There’s something inside it.”

“It’s holding some secret,” Neal agreed, still thinking.

“I want to see it.”

That brought Neal up short. He didn’t have it to produce on demand, and he didn’t want to tell Peter why… but he didn’t like lying to Peter, not after everything they’d been through… all the promises he’d made… “I’m going to need some time.”

Peter could see Neal holding back… wanted to push… but he’d pushed his luck too far today, and Neal’s couldn’t bear much more. “Okay,” he agreed. “Time. But do not shut me out of this, Neal. I meant what I said: I’m your handler. We’re in this together, no matter what happens.”

Slowly, Neal stood up and stepped into Peter’s space. He could smell the cologne Peter was wearing… wanted to feel Peter’s warm skin beneath his fingers… even if he didn’t believe that Kate didn’t love him the way he loved her, Neal couldn’t deny that he loved Peter, too. “No matter what.” Taking a breath, Neal squared his shoulders. “I guess you need to put the anklet back on me… and then we need to get back to the city.”

Neal was closing down on him; Peter could see it in his eyes. _Not today, by God._ Grabbing his bag, Peter took Neal’s hand in a brief, meaningful clasp. “Let’s go home.”

* * *

Elizabeth picked up her cell phone when the buzzer alerted her to a new text message. She’d been waiting for word all day…

_Almost lost Neal today. Staying with him tonight. Love you more than you can know. Told Neal about Kate. Come for breakfast @ June’s tomorrow. Peter._

Sighing, relieved that neither of her men had been lost, Elizabeth sat down and stroked Satchmo’s golden head. “You and me again, Satch. Daddy’s got to take care of Neal tonight.”

* * *

Much to Neal’s surprise, Peter didn’t put the anklet on him in the car. He didn’t push about Kate or the music box. He just ran the air in the car as high as he could and kept one hand on Neal at all times, reassuring himself that Neal was there.

Neal absorbed the touch like it was the last time he would ever feel it.

It seemed like they had just been here, closing the door to Neal’s rooms, closing out the rest of the world before letting raw need take its course. And yet this time, their roles were reversed. It was Peter who couldn’t wait, who was pulling off Neal’s clothes almost angrily, as if they were purposely keeping him from getting to Neal’s skin. It was Peter whose kisses were hot and insistent, and Neal who was tumbled naked across the bed when they finally got there… followed by Peter who must have torn his way out of his clothes like Superman…

No matter how hard the need drove them, Peter’s lips somehow found the time to whisper over half his body… to tease out shocks of need and cries of undiluted passion that Neal had never experienced with anyone else… “We need to keep supplies in the kitchen,” Peter growled as he finally stroked two lubricated fingers into Neal.

Neal could only moan and arch against that hand, not wanting to wait… “It is a long walk into the bedroom…”

Peter’s mouth latched hungrily onto the tender skin of Neal’s stomach, drawing out a deep purple welt and making Neal cry out. “That’s it, sweetheart… let me hear you…”

“You did hear me, Peter… you heard me when it was impossible…”

The reminder sent lightening over Peter’s every nerve. Any thought beyond being inside Neal shorted out, and Peter pulled Neal’s legs wide as he found his mark and sank deep. Neal all but screamed his name, wrapping his legs around Peter’s waist as Peter took possession all over again… reassuring himself that Neal was still alive and whole and fully capable of writhing wantonly in his arms… that Neal still wanted to after everything he’d just learned…

Neal didn’t want to remember… didn’t want to think… just wanted to feel the hard, consuming rhythm of Peter inside him and let the sparks wash through his blood when Peter glanced his prostate… Peter would take care of him… always took care of him…

Which one came first, neither would be able to say later. Neal just knew that Peter had left the condoms in the drawer again… could feel the warmth of Peter’s release filling him…

He’d never gone without protection with Kate. She’d insisted on it; living hand-to-mouth, con-to-con was barely keeping them, let alone if they added a baby. Getting pregnant was just too big a risk. That Peter trusted him to stay clean… was willing to let it just be the two of them without the thin wall keeping them apart…

A tear spilled from each eye as Peter brushed tender kisses over his face. “Neal… sweetheart, it’s okay. You’re safe now… it’s okay.”

“I know.” Neal clung to Peter, soaking up the safety he represented. “I just… today was a lot… and I…”

“I know you love her, Neal.” Peter hated the idea of bringing Kate into the bedroom with them, but it was obvious that Neal was upset about her and the situation. “I don’t-”

Neal’s fingers reached up to cover his lips, silencing him. “Don’t, Peter. Don’t bring her in here with us… with this.”

“Then talk to me,” Peter pressed. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

Neal considered for a moment. There were so many things left unsaid between them… “I don’t have the music box,” he finally elected to say. “I didn’t steal it.”

Peter’s eyes went wide and he reared up on his forearms, staring down at his lover. “You what?”

“I know where it is,” Neal insisted. “I didn’t lie to you about that. It’s just… not in my possession. I know where it is because I know who has it.”

For a moment, Peter did war with himself. Neal had kept that information back for only one reason. He intended to steal the music box for real now that he knew it was what Kate and Fowler were after. Under normal circumstances, Peter would be incensed at the very idea that Neal would think he would allow Neal to steal something, anything, to free Kate from Fowler’s influence.

But Peter had his own score to settle with Fowler, his own reasons to want Kate gone. And Neal had told him the truth… had trusted him with the truth.

“I don’t want to know any more than absolutely necessary,” he finally growled. “You will not take any stupid risks and you will remember that there’s only so much I can do to help you. I’m not throwing my career away to get Kate away from Fowler.”

Neal kissed him softly. It was more than he’d expected; he’d expected the scolding of a lifetime… maybe even that spanking Peter had threatened. “I promise, Peter: no stupid risks if you’re not there to save me.”

* * *

Peter woke as the dawn light filtered through the windows. He’d finally worn Neal out sometime after midnight, and had watched Neal sleeping in his arms for what felt like hours before he also drifted off. His gaze automatically returned to the dark, tousled head tucked against him, watching the gentle brush of Eos’ wings over those pale, innocent features. Neal was so beautiful when he slept, unguarded and peaceful against Peter’s chest.

Neal was beautiful all the time.

This morning meant the anklet. Peter had put it off last night, wanting to keep any reminders of their fight far away. It had been a close thing, telling Neal about his meeting with Kate. Peter had half-expected Neal to bolt.

The unwavering love Neal displayed for Kate, even in the face of her obvious lack of similar emotion, felt like a thousand tiny knives slowly carving their way through Peter’s heart.

He felt Neal wake before he saw those eyes open, and Peter pressed a kiss to the crown of Neal’s head. “Go back to sleep if you want; it’s early yet.”

“Don’t want to,” Neal replied, his voice soft and dreamy. “You have to leave soon.”

“Not that soon.” Peter couldn’t help the way his eyes automatically locked with Neal’s as Neal inched himself up to kiss Peter’s mouth. “And yesterday was a long day.”

“Unless you need me in the office, I can nap after you leave.” Neal’s long limbs twined into Peter’s and that smile was meltingly sinful. “Peter…”

That husky, inviting breath of his name was all it took. Peter rolled into Neal and kissed him as though he was personally responsible for providing Neal Caffrey with oxygen, and Neal anchored to Peter like a lifeline.

It was Neal who found the all-important bottle from within the depths of the pillows, lost after hours of passionate, abandoned reaffirmation of life. Their lips never parted as Neal’s hands pressed it into Peter’s, and Peter wasted no time in reaching around those slender hips. Neal’s leg slipped over Peter’s flank, winding them closer and giving Peter more access, and Peter couldn’t sink inside that heated flesh fast enough.

They made love with eyes open, heavy-lidded and luminous in the lengthening dawn, each needing confirmation that this was real and they were both alive and whole and here. Peter’s arms were bands of steel, locking Neal against his body, a prison Neal would never dream of breaking from. Neal was the epitome of strength in yielding, rocking against Peter’s body in time with the metronome of Peter’s heart.

Ignoring the day as it broke across the sky, Neal buried his head in the strong curve of Peter’s neck as he came in Peter’s arms, inhaling deeply and pressing almost involuntary kisses along Peter’s throat as Peter followed within two gentle strokes.

The tears were falling before Neal realized it: gentle rivers of saline that traced chaotic paths down his cheeks and onto Peter’s shoulder. Peter felt it and held him closer, unsure of how to help but knowing Neal needed to let them fall.

“Sorry,” Neal whispered when he regained his composure. “I know how you get when people start crying.”

Peter brushed a gentle kiss to Neal’s ear. “Don’t apologize, sweetheart… it’s been a long week. I’d say you’ve earned it.” A crooked, boyish smile tugged at those lips, and Peter couldn’t resist running his thumb over the lower one. “How that girl resisted you, I’ll never know.”

“What girl?” Neal demanded.

“Brittany Nicole? Second grade?” Peter smiled at him, brown eyes warm and content. “I can’t imagine you being anything short of adorable with a gap in your baby teeth.”

Perfectly straight, white teeth flashed in the morning light as Neal threw back his head and laughed. “You’re never seeing the pictures, Peter, so don’t even think about it.”

“I’m sure there are some I could dig up if I tried.”

Giving a huff of mock-indignation, Neal rolled free of Peter’s arms and sat up. “That would be an abuse of FBI resources… and there are much better pictures of me you could look for.”

Stroking Neal’s arm, Peter pondered that idea for a moment. “We’ll see.” Sighing, he sat up and glanced at the clock. “We should clean up. I invited El to join us for breakfast, and then I’ve got to get into the office and close up this case.”

The smile that had tugged at the corners of Neal’s mouth drooped. “Better get that anklet on, too… can’t have people thinking you actually trust me not to run or anything.”

Peter reached out, caught the nape of Neal’s neck in his hand, and pulled him in for a thorough kiss. Blue eyes were dilated and dazed when Peter pulled away. “The night you get to take this damn thing off for good? I’ll take great personal pleasure in helping you smash all the anklets we’ve had to cut for these cases. I’ve got the sledgehammer all picked out.”

That brought another laugh, and Neal swung his legs off the bed as Peter fetched the tracker from his bag in the common room. He returned and knelt before Neal in a twisted parody of Cinderella, his fingers gliding over Neal’s bare foot and slender ankle as he locked the unsightly creation in place. Neal shivered, a moan escaping his lips, and Peter looked up. “Now you know why I let someone else do this most of the time.”

Neal’s breath shook as he looked down at Peter with eyes like azure flame. “Because if you did it, I’d be too hot and bothered to concentrate on the case?”

Mischief glittered in those russet eyes, and Peter leaned up. With deliberate intent, his tongue stroked Neal’s half-arousal from base to tip. The gesture shocked a cry out of Neal and Peter smiled. “It’d be far too obvious how much I’d want to suck you off in the closest available broom closet,” he replied gamely. He then scooped Neal up and carried him into the shower.

* * *

By the time Elizabeth had arrived for breakfast, both men were composed and dressed and able to restrain their baser urges again. Elizabeth had hugged Neal even harder than she had Peter, clinging to him with such ferocity that Neal could feel her hands shake. Confused, he simply pressed a gentle, comforting kiss to her temple and hugged her back. “I’m okay,” he murmured.

“It’s bad enough: the risks Peter takes,” Elizabeth chided. “Don’t you make me start worrying about both of you, Neal Caffrey.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he teased.

Breakfast was simple, and Neal felt better after a night of passion and a morning of open air. He bantered with both Burkes, his spirit lighter than it had been in months. Prison was no longer a threat, merely a concern. He knew what he needed to get Kate away from Fowler. And he had Peter… at least a part of him. More than he could hope for.

Elizabeth had to meet Yvonne at an event site; Peter agreed to drive her before heading to the Bureau. After kissing Neal on the cheek, Elizabeth graciously left them alone for a minute as she went down through the main house.

Peter drew Neal close, drawing in a deep breath and storing up the scent of the wind in Neal’s hair. “You can give your statement later today. I want you to get some extra sleep before coming down to the office; you hear me?”

“Yes, Peter.” Neal grinned impudently and kissed him, loving him for his concern.

“There’s one other thing.” Neal almost braced as Peter reached into his jacket and removed a long, slender golden chain.

From which dangled Peter’s FBI ring. The very ring that had nearly caused Neal to make the stupidest mistake of his life. Neal stared at it for a moment, and then met Peter’s solemn eyes with a wide, uncomprehending gaze. “Peter?”

“I want you to have it,” Peter replied. “I never wear it except at Bureau functions.”

“Peter, I can’t…” Neal could barely begin to complete his own thoughts. “I was only kidding about wanting one; you don’t-”

“I do.” Peter opened the clasp and fastened the long chain around Neal’s neck. The ring hung just over Neal’s heart. “I want you to have it… to remember that you really can trust me, even when it looks like you can’t.”

Tears sprang to Neal’s eyes, and he locked an arm around Peter’s neck and kissed him, hard. Peter’s hands came up around Neal’s back, gently cradling Neal against him. When Neal could finally bear to release him, there were tears shining in Peter’s eyes as well. “Thank you, Peter… thank you.”

“Anytime, Neal.” With a gentle caress through Neal’s wind-swept hair, Peter turned and walked down the stairs to join his wife.

The door closed behind him. Neal finally crumpled to the floor and wept. The tears rushed out, refusing to be bottled back for one more moment, flooding from his eyes for too many reasons to count. Neal’s hand found Peter’s ring on its chain and gripped hard, fighting to get himself back under control.

_I can trust him… he didn’t betray me… he saved my life… I really can trust him…_

* * *

By the time Mozzie arrived later that day, Neal was composed again, the ring and its chain safely tucked away beneath his shirt. “Well, it’s ready,” Moz declared as he came in. “Are you running?” Not wanting to answer, knowing what Mozzie would think, Neal elected to just hike up his trouser leg and show Moz the anklet that Peter had re-fastened this morning. “You folded,” Mozzie said in disgust. “You’re back in chains.”

“I have to see this one through,” Neal told him slowly. _Not going to tell you what I’m seeing through, though… I wonder if there’s any way you’d understand, Moz… any way Kate would understand…_

Changing tracks and walking around the table, Moz apparently decided that this development wasn’t worth arguing about. “Okay, so… Fowler wants the music box. Let’s give it to him.” He turned to look at Neal. “Where is it?”

Neal was almost flinching at the idea of explaining this to more than one person… let alone Mozzie, who’d been so damned smug when he’d heard that Neal had stolen it. “I don’t have it.”

“What?” Mozzie shook his head like he was trying to clear water from his ears. “You told everyone you had it.”

“I never told anyone!” Neal objected. “Everyone assumed I took it and I… never corrected them.”

“It did make you appear… superhuman.” Mozzie’s expression was appreciative as he crossed his arms, like he’d suddenly been let in on the joke.

“Image is everything,” Neal replied, a grin curving his lips.

“Now what?”

“Now I find the music box,” Neal told him softly, moving closer to look into Mozzie’s eyes.

“And steal it?” When Neal gave him no more than a smug expression, Mozzie’s tone warmed considerably. “Welcome back.”

Neal reached out, picking up the knight from the chess board on the table. _I might be the king… might not be able to go everywhere I want… but I’ve got a knight on my side that’ll never back down… I can do this…_

Thinking of Peter bore no more shadows, and Neal couldn’t stop smiling.


End file.
